


Lone Wolf

by lanfraedo



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Isn't Nice, Bad Arthur Morgan, Dark Arthur Morgan, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 18:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanfraedo/pseuds/lanfraedo
Summary: You'd really fucked up this time. You'd saw him as an easy target. Boy, had you been wrong.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	Lone Wolf

The saloon buzzed with excitement, drunks hollering everywhere, along with scantily clad women hanging onto them. You sipped your beer, leaning against the bar. Nearby you, sat a tall man, who was hunched over. You side-eyed him from up under your hat, noticing the empty shot glasses surrounding the lone cowboy (?) and the lack of life around him. Scanning him, you also noticed that he was wearing some of the nicest damn boots you’d ever seen in your life. Sure, you were young, but those boots looked like ostrich skin leather. Turning around, you put your elbows on the bar, twisting towards the mysterious, but possibly wealthy, fellow. Noticing you, he cocked an eyebrow.

“What the hell you lookin’ at, boy?”

You were used to being mistaken as a male, due to your cropped hair and pants. This world wasn’t made for a woman, and dresses sure as hell weren’t made to ride a horse. You let the comment slide and shrugged your shoulders.

“I wasn’t meaning to stare, sir, just noticed you were low on whiskey. Would you like a couple of shots?”

The drunker, the better. He stared at you for a bit, thinking, then shrugged.

“Why the hell not?”

You waved at the man behind the bar, who sat two glasses in front of you. The both of you picked them up, raising them. Before you could tip the shot back, the man interrupted you.

“I’m Arthur, by the way. Arthur Morgan.”

The name sounded familiar, but you pushed that thought back, grinning at Arthur. “Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Morgan. I’m F/N.” And the both of you tipped the glasses back.  
  
Eight shots in, Arthur was absolutely hammered. He’d been taking shots before you’d began buying them and was now wasted. You smiled to yourself, still mostly sober. You’d been dumping your shots out on the floor every time he’d had his head thrown back taking his. This was most definitely a waste of money, but you knew it’d pay off when you’d be able to pick his pockets soon. Hell, maybe you’d even be able to somehow get those ostrich boots. Those alone could buy you the nicest alcohol straight from Tahiti. You leaned in closer, towards Arthur, smelling the whiskey on his breath. He was pretty darn handsome, a little rugged, but handsome. You weren’t here buying shots in hopes to bed him though, reminding yourself, you were buying them to rob him. You mumbled some bullshit to him, like you had to hundreds of other men you’d robbed before to distract them. Your hands grazed over the satchel that hung at his side, reaching into it with light, experienced fingers. All the sudden, a hand came crashing down onto your wrist, twisting it away from the bag. You winced in pain, and your eyes widened in fear at the predatory look that was now on Arthur’s face. He no longer looked drunk, instead more alert, and just twisted your wrist even more. He was completely silent while doing this which made the look on his face even more terrifying. You hissed out in pain, clawing at him. Nobody in the saloon noticed, or at least acted like they didn’t notice, the both of you. You turned to look at the man behind the bar, who turned a blind eye instead.

Never in the five years you’d been pickpocketing had anyone caught you. In your head (and on your feet) you were panicking. Arthur Morgan wasn’t letting go of your wrist.

“Mr. Morgan, what the hell are you doing?”

When in doubt, act like you have no idea what the hell is going on. That’s what your Pa had always said to you before he’d went and croaked.

“Do you think I’m dumb, boy? I know what you been up to. Do you really not know who the hell I am?”

You stared up at him, terrified, racking your mind for clues as to who the scary bastard was. Arthur . . . Morgan. . . Morgan . . . MORGAN. Realization dawned on your face and Arthur smirked. You’d seen that name on wanted posters everywhere in this town. And every town you’d come across lately. Wanted dead or alive, Arthur Morgan. He’d been nicknamed 'The Lone Wolf’, due to his past affairs. The man had betrayed his old gang and didn’t discriminate when it came to murder. No wonder nobody was around him at the damn bar. They’d all been smart enough to know not to approach the outlaw. You cursed under your breath, accepting the fact that you’d die tonight. Maybe he’d just shoot you, making it quick and easy. You knew deep down that wouldn’t be the case though.

He leaned in, coarse stubble scratching your cheek.

“You’re coming with me. Any trouble and you can guarantee you won’t be the only dead one in this place.”

Begrudgingly, you let him pull you along. You already knew you were dumb, but it would be really dumb of you to have innocent people harmed because of your dumbass mistake. He pulled you upstairs, dragging you when you tripped. The people that did watch the two of you go upstairs definitely didn’t make any moves to step in or bother to try to protect you. This was a moment you wished you were more feminine. He kicked the door in on one of the rooms in the back, snarling at the terrified half-dressed couple that quickly ran out. He shoved you away from him, slamming the door, seemingly causing the floor to walls around you to tremble. You tripped over your feet and fell onto the ground, feeling your knees bruise. You tried getting back up, but Arthur pushed you back down with his boot. He crushed his foot down on your chest and you screamed out in pain. Your chest already ached from binding it, but with the force of those goddamn ostrich boots, the pain was terrible.

Noticing your reaction, Arthur was curious as to why that simple action had invoked such a painful cry. He crouched down, going for the buttons on your shirt. Trying to protect the last bit of dignity you still had, you tried to wrench yourself away from him, but failed.

“No! No! Please don’t, sir!” you cried.

He batted your hands away easily.

“Calm the hell down, boy! You’re dying soon anyways.”

Tears now trickled down your cheeks, and Arthur struggled with the shirt. Frustrated, he tore it, buttons flying everywhere. Dumbfounded, Arthur stared at the white bandages wrapping your chest. He looked at your face, puzzled.

“Did you . . . get shot or somethin’?”

You spat at him, growling. Hell, if you were gonna die, you’d at least go down with a fight. Wiping the spit away with a hand, he raised his other one to you, pinning you down by your throat. You gasped and felt a hand on your chest, ripping away the bandage. He was rough, pain bringing more tears to your eyes.

“Why the hell you got so much damn wrap on your chest, kid, what the hell happe-“

Arthur exhaled, the air hitting your chest, making your now exposed nipples hard. You shut your eyes, ashamed, refusing to look up at the man. Arthur had encountered many strange things in his life, but he’d never came across something like this.

“Are you…a woman?”

He asked, letting up on your throat so you could answer.

“What the hell does it look like, you goddamn, stupid son of a bi- “

The hand that was still holding your throat tightened. He looked at your face. He figured you’d just been one of those dumb pretty boys, stupid enough to try to rob him. Well, this was certainly interesting. Still holding you down, his hand lowered to the belt on your jeans. Knowing what he was going for, you tried kicking up at him, only for his thighs to pin your legs down. He now straddled you, still fidgeting with the belt. Finally, after a few annoyed grunts, he undid it, tearing it away. You glared up at him and gasped when you felt his hand dig into your pants, pawing at your crotch. Running calloused fingers over your folds, he confirmed that you were indeed a lady, and that you were also . . .wet? This just kept getting more and more interesting!

He let go of you, and before you could escape, picked you up, throwing you onto the bed.

“You murder and rape women?”

You hissed up at him, a few specks of your spit landing on his face.

He grinned, wiping the spit away, coming down to crawl over and pin you down again.

“I’m a killer, but I sure ain’t no rapist.”

He lowered his head to bite your ear.

“And you’ll be begging for me soon enough.”


End file.
